


Priorities

by Janice_Lester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's <i>supposed</i> to ogle the charity carwash girls.  After all, it's for charity!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Priorities

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a postage stamp for my second 2012 [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card, to hit the kinks 'vehicular', 'class fantasies', 'washing/cleaning', and 'orgies/decadence'. Beta'd by [](http://vee-dub.livejournal.com/profile)[vee_dub](http://vee-dub.livejournal.com/). **Continuity:** Vague, only _very_ vague spoilers up to season 4.  
> 

There’s not many people Dean will willingly trust with his baby. But for a bunch of skimpily-dressed co-eds on roller skates he’s willing to take the risk. Because, hey. Babes. With hoses and sponges and _white_ shirts.

It’s a charity thing, marketed at guys, so it’s not like the ogling isn’t expected. It would almost be rude not to indulge just a little, right? So, yeah, Dean pays his donation to the church orphans’ fund or whatever, parks where directed, leans back in his seat and links his hands behind his head. He’s got soda and two kinds of pie waiting for him, but right now his attention’s very much on the view.

Three girls come to clean his baby. He returns their cheery waves. Two are indisputably hot chicks, and the third is hot in a shy, chubby, librarianish kinda way, which, yeah, totally does it for Dean. Also, roller skates. Gliding and sudden turns and jiggling.

Pretty likely, in a few years these girls will have awesome careers, they’ll be lawyers and architects and authors of literary masterpieces to be talked about for generations to come. They’ll earn big moolah and live happy civilian lives, very much unaware of the existence of ghosts, ghouls, and whatever else goes evil-bump in the night. They are very much not unpaid blue-collar demon hunters. He can’t deny the appeal of that—or the vague sense that somehow, because of who he is and what he does every day, touching any of them would be defiling an innocence they don’t even know they have.

But it’s a nice image, all the same, three university women lavishing their attentions on him as well as his baby. And each other, because what red-blooded American guy would pass up the opportunity to see some hot lesbian action? Three of them, count ‘em, _three_. Such luxury. Leaning over him, cleavage deliciously on display, to sponge away the dirt and grime of a hard lived life. Climbing in and pulling him into the back seat with them, a jumble of tacky-wet limbs, scent of soap and sunshine and woman… All those delicate, neatly manicured hands trying to touch him all at once before it breaks up into a sexy little mini-catfight over who gets the first ride. He’d enjoy the sight of his gorgeous co-eds wrestling, but only for a minute or two before he’d play Voice of Reason. _Now, now, girls, no need to fight. Plenty of me to go round._

He’s heard foursomes can be confusing, but somehow Dean thinks he’d manage.

His damn phone rings. He accepts the call irritably, since it’s Sam and he can’t leave the guy alone for five minutes without the risk that he’ll get himself into some shit or other, probably involving addictive substances, curvy demons, and/or head injuries. “What?” he demands. “I’m busy here.” It is, to his immense embarrassment, his sex voice. He clears his throat. If asked, he’ll say he’s got a sore throat or something.

“Yeah? Doing what? I’m down at the library, where you were supposed to be checking out—”

“I went! They only had microfiche.”

“You’re going to make me do it, aren’t you?”

“Dude, it’s microfiche. You get off on that crap. And, bonus, you’re already there!”

“And meanwhile, you are—?”

“Carwash,” he says shortly, watching hot chick number one adjust her cut-offs so they almost, almost, completely cover the back of her thong.

“Always nice to know you prioritise the important things, Dean.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Dean says, and hangs up on him. Librarian chick is gustily attacking the windshield with her squeegee. Her white blouse, which was tied up at the bottom, has come undone, and the whole thing’s turned so transparent that he could see her bra through it even if it _wasn’t_ bright red. And lacy. Dean smiles sweetly and indicates that she’s missed a spot.

***END***


End file.
